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If you were to look back at my report cards from grade school, the commentary was remarkably consistent: bright, innovative, straight As — and talks way too much. I have always been a naturally gregarious person and, as a marketer, I am a storyteller by trade and by DNA. For a long time, I operated under the assumption that to be valuable, I had to be visible. I believed that if I wasn’t the most vocal person in the room, my peers and leaders wouldn’t know I was engaged or strategic.

As I rose into the executive ranks, however, I had to confront a humbling reality: At times, the more you say, the less you are heard. Learning the discipline of strategic restraint was a fundamental shift in how I viewed influence. I realized that being the loudest voice often turned my contribution into white noise. So in order to become a true strategic architect, I had to learn how to transmute my natural energy into a more intentional, calculated form of presence.

The 360-degree review

The turning point in my career didn’t come from a specific win, but from being gifted an executive coach. Part of that process involved a 360-degree review where peers, superiors and direct reports provide anonymous feedback on your leadership style. On paper, I was perceived as competent and creative. But the review also contained a jarring observation: I was described as someone who could “suck the air out of the room.”

It was a staggering realization because, where I thought I was being genuinely helpful, others saw me as overbearing. I had to step back and honestly confront the gap between my intention and my impact. It took a deep level of reflection to come to terms with the fact that much of my talkativeness was actually masking an insecurity — the fear that if I didn’t say it, they wouldn’t know I was thinking it. By trying so hard to prove my engagement, I was actually preventing others from engaging with me.

This dynamic is particularly nuanced for women in leadership, who often navigate a different set of expectations. We are frequently scrutinized for our tone and cadence, and I’ve spent years learning to manage my physical cues to ensure my passion isn’t misread as aggression. I often literally have to sit on my hands or consciously slow my speech to maintain a more grounded, executive authority. Far from a retreat, this restraint is a tactical adjustment that ensures the “why” of my message isn’t lost in the “how” of its delivery.

The “One Thing” discipline

To master this restraint, I began applying what I call the “One Thing” rule. In any executive meeting, there are usually half a dozen different topics in play. If you try to bat on every single one, you dilute your impact and risk becoming white noise in the discussion. Now, I decide before I walk into the room exactly what I want to achieve — the one specific goal I have for that session.

I wait for the right moment in the conversation to make that point with precision. And if that opening doesn’t arrive, or if I sense the room isn’t in the right mindset to hear it, I have the emotional intelligence to table it for another time. This discipline has fundamentally changed the caliber of my collaborations. When you aren’t fighting to be heard on every point, you create the space for others to feel ownership in the vision.

I think of it as stopping my boat to allow people to get on it before I take off. If you move too fast and say too much, you aren’t allowing your team or your peers to be part of the journey. Strategic restraint is about building a boat that others actually want to board, rather than one they feel they are being chased by.

The lesson of compounding growth

If I were sitting across from the 32-year-old version of myself today, I actually wouldn’t tell her anything. Every one of us has to live our own journey, and at that age, I simply wasn’t in the mind space to hear this advice. We have to live through the life lessons to truly understand them. My loud voice helped me rise to a certain level, but I had to learn that what got me here wouldn’t get me there.

For me, the shift toward a quieter power has unlocked a new level of growth — not just in my career, but as a person. Humbling as it was to realize I was overbearing, that feedback forced me to ask myself why I was doing it, and ultimately became the catalyst for a more sustainable, high-trust form of leadership.

Today, I see that same force-of-nature energy in my son and two daughters, and I am already working to help them harness that power so they can lead with it effectively. This practice of stewardship extends beyond my home and into my work on boards like Truckers Against Trafficking and the National Pediatric Cancer Foundation. 

When we choose strategic restraint, we allow others to build their own credibility. By waiting for the right moment to speak, I am not just improving my own executive presence; I am returning capacity to the people and systems that supported my own growth. Because in the end, being the strategist in the room isn’t about the volume of our participation. It is about the intentional weight of our presence and the strategic space we create for the next generation of leaders to find their own voices.